


The Parental Conundrum

by in_the_bottle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-30
Updated: 2011-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_the_bottle/pseuds/in_the_bottle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is Mummy's and Sherlock is Daddy's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Parental Conundrum

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in under an hour and then it took a couple of days for the beta to get back to me. Thanks to [](http://shehasathree.livejournal.com/profile)[**shehasathree**](http://shehasathree.livejournal.com/) for betaing! For the Missing Hour challenge at DW Sherlock Flashfic comm... people, how do I put in a comm/lj link to DW??
> 
> Started 9 March 2011 @ 23:06  
> Finished 10 March 2011 @ 00:00
> 
> So... does this mean that I took a day instead of an hour? ;)

Despite having lived almost a year with Sherlock Holmes, there was a lot about him that John didn't know about, including his family. Sure, he'd met Mycroft and Sherlock's brother had a tendency to drop by the flat unannounced. But the animosity between the siblings and the way they communicated with each other (observations and implications, nothing ever really being said out loud) meant there was little John could learn about their family background.

So, it wasn't really a surprise when they returned from Scotland Yard one day, after closing one of the most puzzling and gruesome serial murder cases John could recall, to find Mycroft sitting in John's chair, waiting for them.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock demanded.

"Mummy rang me. Father's worried about you."

Instead of the expected growling at Mycroft that John was expecting, Sherlock paused in the middle of taking off his coat. "What day is it?" he asked, frowning.

"Wednesday, why?" John asked, filing away the little fact that both of Sherlock's parents were still alive, and clearly worried about their youngest.

"It's been ten days," Mycroft said.

John had no idea to what Mycroft was referring to, but Sherlock clearly did. He shrugged out of his coat and immediately fished out his mobile form his jacket pocket, scrolling through its menu frantically.

"He wants you to ring him," Mycroft added.

While John was getting used to not understanding 80% of what the siblings talked about, it was still sometimes frustrating to be the only person in the room with no idea what was going on. He guessed he should count himself lucky (or unlucky, depending on your perspective) that the Holmes brothers trusted him enough to speak so freely in front of him about their private matters. Most of the Yard, whom Sherlock had worked with for over five years, didn't even know that he had a brother.

"Ring him? Why? He knows I prefer texting and email. I can send him an email instead." Sherlock said, sounding a little... unusual.

"Mummy said Father wants you to ring him. She made me promise to tell this to you in person, so here I am, telling you in person."

On the other hand, it was quite possible that they just didn't think John smart enough to figure out what they were talking about, though the content of the current conversation seemed pretty obvious even to him.

"Tea?" John offered instead of trying to guess what was going on in Sherlock's head that was producing the slightly pained look on his face.

"No thank you, John. I'm merely here to deliver a message from our father to Sherlock. I'll take my leave now. Have a good night, gentlemen." Mycroft matched his words with action and left before Sherlock could come up with another reply.

John didn't bother seeing Mycroft out. He figured if Mycroft knew to let himself into their flat, he could show himself out.

Putting the kettle on, John proceeded to make two mugs of tea, for Sherlock and himself. By the time he set the mug on the table in front of Sherlock, the slightly pained look from earlier had transformed itself to a rather agonised expression.

"You look like someone just told you all the murders have been solved and all future possibilities of murders occurring have been eradicated."

Sherlock buried his face in his hands and actually let out a moan.

"Are you all right?"

"No. Daddy wants me to call him."

Right. Sherlock's father wanted him to call. John gathered as much from the message Mycroft delivered. What was the big deal?

Sherlock lifted his head to look at John when John failed to produce the response Sherlock deemed appropriate for the situation.

"And that's a bad thing?" John asked hesitantly, mentally adding 'Sherlock calls his father 'Daddy'' to his mental repository of all things Sherlockian.

"Of course it's a bad thing!" Sherlock exclaimed, launching himself out of the chair with his usual dramatic flare. "He'll know everything! And I mean _everything_! If you think Mycroft's bad, Daddy's worse. He can tell absolutely everything, even from the phone!"

"Right, and you don't want him to know everything?" John ventured.

"Of course not! Did you ever want your parents to know everything about you? Why do you think I email and text him instead of calling? He worries enough just from reading your blog and my website, talking to him will probably give him a heart attack!"

John blinked. "Talking to your father will give him a heart attack."

"John, keep up. Where did you think Mycroft and I got our deductive skills from?"

"You're telling me your father's better at it than you and Mycroft?" John wasn't sure his brain could even comprehend that level of genius.

"Well, I'd say Mycroft is pretty much on par with Daddy now, but that only applies to strangers. I'm _his son_."

And that was when John got it. His own mother had always had an uncanny ability to tell that he was fibbing; if she had a fraction of Sherlock's ability on top of the parental radar that all parents seemed to come equipped with... that was a thought too frightening to contemplate. No wonder Sherlock looked so distressed.

"Now you understand?" Sherlock moaned and flopped onto the sofa.

"Yes. Yes, I think I do." John took his customary seat on the armchair.

There was a pause, during which the only sound in the sitting room was Sherlock's whimper.

"So... he can tell that you almost fell from a roof and nearly got shot by a thug – "

"The moment I say 'hello'." Sherlock finished John's sentence. "Then he'd go on about how this is all too dangerous and why can't I find a nice research job where I'd be safe in a lab somewhere. Then Mother will get involved and tell me I'm not getting any younger and it's time to find a nice young lady or young man and stop chasing criminals around London. Or if I have to solve crime, then let the police do the legwork. Then the _both_ of them will go on about how I should be more like Mycroft and learn to _delegate_. It's horrible, John."

"Yes, I can see how that's horrible." John felt his lips twitch, and quickly took a sip of tea.

Sherlock, of course, noticed, and glared.

"Are you laughing at me?" he demanded, sitting up.

"No, of course not. Your parents sound terrible to be worrying about you." This time, John couldn't stop the grin from appearing on his face. Sherlock's parents sounded like all the parents he knew. All the _good_ parents he knew. "Oh yes, absolutely horrible." The grin turned into a chuckle.

"You're mocking me." Sherlock glared some more, which turned John's chuckle into a laugh.

"I hate you." Sherlock finally declared, still glaring, but John noticed a slight twitch at the corner of his lips.

"I'm sure you do. Go call your father before he asks Mycroft to send in the secret service."

Sherlock let out another moan and flopped back down onto the sofa, face down this time, and then let out a scream of pure frustration.

John watched on in amusement and drank his tea.

 

The End


End file.
